The S-Mart Saga Part 2: Psychic Storm
by Uglycat24
Summary: The second installment of the ongoing S-Mart Saga. Lori arrives for her first night shift, where she gets to know her new coworkers and the arrogant General Manager (guess who?) Plus, what would a night at S-Mart be without a little supernatural violence and chaos? As usual, all constructive critique is welcome.
1. Liberty

The night wind lashes against the double wide trailer sitting in defiance on a slight hill overlooking a quiet bit of highway. There are no neighbors in sight, no landmarks except for a willow tree so far bent over it is practically circular. The small sliding windows on each of the four sides of the trailer provide the only illumination in a vat of intense blue darkness.

Inside the trailer, rabbit-eared television blares static interlaced with red political commentary. Through the narrow accordion door of the bathroom, Lori can hear her mother snort, laugh and spew liquid at an off-colored racial crack, though Lori is not sure the full extent of the quip truly landed in her mother's whiskey-soaked brain.

Lori splashes water on her face at the cracked honey-colored sink. She pats her face dry with a brown spotted towel, evaluating her appearance in the desilvering medicine cabinet mirror.

It has been a difficult two weeks, wrapping up the day shift and trying to adjust to a nocturnal schedule. Her eyes are ringed with red. Her darkened eye sockets look nearly skeletal in the harsh Halloween shadows cast from the bare bulb above the mirror. Her greasy bangs hang heavy over her eyes, her stomach and head feel like she just got off a roller coaster. She takes a deep breath to keep the various throbs at bay for as long as possible. She has to focus, because tonight is her first real night shift.

"Lori? What er ya doin? Commere!"

Lori can barely decipher a language from the slurs, let alone words. She quickly pulls her hair back into a low ponytail, straightens the shoulders of her blue smock, and exits the bathroom.

The studio audience claps as the face of an overweight badly tailored pundit fills the tiny TV. Lori's mother is splayed across a fuzzy yellow loveseat, scrawny legs partially concealed by grey sweatpants ripped off at the knees. Her green tank top is three sizes too big, stretched with age and sweat and hanging off her emaciated frame. A cigarette twirls smoke from her left hand and she holds a forty ounce malt liquor bottle between her legs with the right.

"That's right, Kipp, you tell those immigrant bastards what's what."

Lori rolls her eyes. Ladies and gentlemen, Liberty LaCrue.

Liberty sucks at her cigarette, then spots Lori out of the corner of her eye.

"This man is a genius." Her head sways and her eyes droop between half-open half-closed. "Lori come watch this with me. They're not gonna teach you this in that school of yours."

Lori refrains from explaining to her mother all the ways that statement is irrelevant. Liberty swings her legs to the ground and rolls her head away from the TV, finally noticing that Lori is dressed for work.

"What is that?" Liberty gestures with her cigarette in Lori's direction, indicating Lori's smocked outfit. "Where do you think you're going?"

"It's my uniform, Mama. I got switched to the night shift. I told you about it two weeks ago. And last week." Lori sighs. "And yesterday."

Liberty squinches up her eyes and constricts her mouth like she's been sucking on a lemon, fighting to think through the haze.

"Mmmm…no. No, no…no. I don't remember you ever saying anything like that."

"Mom, I have to go. I'm on the schedule."

"Well I don't know how you're going to get there."

"I'll take the truck."

Liberty's eyes pop open. "Like hell you will. That's MY car!"

"Well it's not like you're gonna use it tonight. You're…not working until Monday." For the sake of her argument, Lori decides not to point out the more obvious and immediate deterrent to her mother's ability to operate heavy machinery.

"Who do you think you are, kid?" Liberty staggers to her feet, liquor bottle swinging from her curled fingers. She sways from side to side, eyes lolling and unable to focus on any one thing for very long.

Lori feels a cold prickle behind her ears and between her shoulder blades. This is not good.

Not good, but essential.

Her mother takes a step in Lori's direction.

"I am your mother."

Lori slides a foot to her right, inching down the wall towards the door. In her head she calculates the distance between her and her mother (two feet), herself and the door (five feet), and how fast a sober sixteen year old can move in comparison to a wasted woman in her thirties.

"As long as you are in my house, you will honor your mother!" Liberty snatches at Lori's sleeve, but Lori manages to rip free. Her heart leaps into action as she tears down the narrow corridor and practically yanks the fiberglass door off its hinges. A half-second later, the door trembles with the impact of a half full forty-ounce bottle hurled from a distance. The bottle doesn't break, but it somehow manages to splash yeasty-smelling malt liquor all down the back of Lori's smock.

"Get out!" Her mother's raspy bark echoes in Lori's head as she stumbles down the metal steps and through the blasting wind towards the bus stop. "Don't come back until you learn some goddamn respect!"

Her body is shaking from the narrowly escaped physical harm, and every nerve ending tingles. She is alert. She is vigilante.

She is ready for work.


	2. Girl vs Giant

Grace slams back against the wrought iron shelving unit. It shudders but does not fall. All her breath is yanked from her body, and she collapses to the floor. As she groans and gasps for air, the towering shadow on the other side of the room pulls itself to its feet, hunching low in the small space. It twists its distended neck in the direction it had thrown her, every grinding vertebrae visible under skin so thin it looks as if it might tear in half.

She snorts, almost growls, in frustration. "The one time I leave my hammer in the break room..." she mutters to herself.

The sharp edges of the shelves' metal frame dig into her hands as Grace pulls herself to her feet. The thing across the room takes a long stride in her direction. Its boulder of a foot drops with a boom, and she has to cling to the trembling framework to steady herself. Several rolls of paper towels tumble down from the shelves above her. She pushes blood-and-sweat soaked hair out of her eyes as she watches the towels roll away. They're no good to her anyhow, not in the face of this piece of crap.

Another step. This time the shelving unit next to her pitches forward, spilling industrial amounts of hand soap and Mop-N-Glo in every direction. Grace turns her body to fully face her enemy, feeling the twist and pinch in her spine of bones gone awry.

Its face is long and smooth, its skin nearly completely rotted away to reveal the cracked, discolored bone underneath. Bloodshot eyes roll deep in uncovered sockets. Shards of yellow teeth are bared in an unrelenting grimace. Tatters of diamond-patterned skin that were once ears flap against temples so flaky they look like the top of a pie crust.

Another step. The shelves rock on their base. Grace summons all her strength to heave them back against the wall. The thing is practically on top of her now. Her eyes blink and flash in all directions, looking for something, anything, to use as a weapon. She is surrounded by cleaning products: bleach, ammonia, vinegar, which are all kinds of nasty for most of the creepy crawly things that come at her. But, apparently, not this guy. When it first stuck that nasty mug out of the portal, the bleach she'd blasted it with did no good except to eat away at the last remaining chunks of flesh wedged deep in the cavities of its cheek bones. Didn't do shit to slow it down though.

It bends down over her, that dead-eyed peeled face cracked in an eternal smile. God, this sonofabitch must be nine, ten feet tall. She is frantically searching the room, but it's no use. There's nothing big enough that would even come close to stopping him.

Nothing...except...

The thing's face hovers less than a foot away from her own. "We've got you now, Henry."

Grace freezes for a moment, then bursts out laughing.

The thing looks insulted. Maybe even a little hurt. "What are you laughing at, maggot?"

Grace pretends to restrain herself. "Nothing...but, I mean, since you look like a ventriloquist dummy, I was just wondering who it is that has his hand up your ass?"

Its eyes turn bright red. It retracts its sharp, sinewy arm in preparation for the death blow.

Grace summons every last ounce of her might and propels herself into a low skid through the mix of detergents on the floor, sliding clear back to the other side of the room where this whole stupid thing began. She lands with a crash at the base of another shelving unit.

"Uhhhghh?" The thing utters a confused groan, turning on its bony hips to find her once again.

Grace forces herself to spring to her feet. It's important to sell the bit.

"It's tag bitch!" she yells. "And you...are...it."

Its teeth make a chalky, gritty noise as it grinds its jaws together. It turns to give chase.

When its foot hits the ground, the shelves finally give up their proud fight. They crash down on top of the monster with a satisfying crash of metal on bone on cement. The thing roars in surprise as the shelves pin it face down onto the rusted drain cover embedded in the floor. It sputters in the slick of soap that has gathered there.

Grace lets herself go slack for a moment, her body in fact screaming from the earlier impact and her more recent trip down the Soap-and-Slide. It is now that she finally spots the weapon she has been missing.

Grabbing the broom by its wooden handle, she saunters over to stand above the thing's head, which somehow managed to turn on its ear.

"Don't get too excited," it hisses through clenched jaws. "We've got plans for you. You...and that other one."

Grace smiles, snaps the broom handle over her knee, and plunges the two sharp ends straight down. One pierces the thing's throat, the other she drives right through it's scabby temple, angled such that she can feel the final impact against the back of its teeth.

"If I had a nickel every time I heard that, God knows I wouldn't be working here."

Even as she's walking toward the door, Grace has to admit that is a lie.

Grace ignores the odd and slightly disturbed look she receives from the woman on the other side of the cash register as she makes her way back from the supply closet to the counter. She gives Cooper a nod and smile, and he continues counting out his drawer without showing the slightest hint of concern.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but it doesn't appear that anyone has turned in a pair of Prada sunglasses to our lost and found yet."

The blonde woman gapes at Grace's blood- and soap-stained attire. "What...what happened to you?"

Grace keeps smiling. "Are you sure you didn't just leave them in your car? Perhaps in the glove compartment?"

"Is that...oh my God, is that blood?"

"Or maybe you left them in your shopping cart? That happens to me all the time."

"What the hell is going on?!"

"Ma'am, I know you're upset, but there's no need to shout. If they're here, I'm sure they will turn up. If you'd like, you can leave me your phone number and I will call you as soon as I see them."

The woman starts backing away from the counter. "No, that's okay, I'll-I'll just check my car again."

"Oh, well, okay then. You have a nice night now, and that's for shopping smart!"

The woman scampers away, looking over her shoulder only once, trying to decide whether or not she is seeing things. Grace just keeps smiling until she disappears out the sliding doors, then collapses over the register, clutching her back and moaning.


	3. Takin Care of Business

A swoosh of warm air hits Lori's frosty skin like a furnace as the automatic doors open, beckoning her inside. She pushes her tired limbs to keep going, diving through the entrance and finally into the warmth of the store. The doors slide closed behind her, sealing the cold outside.

Making her way through the second set of sliding doors and into the store, she searches for the digital customer service clock. 11:24pm. Nearly an hour and a half late. Only a couple checkout lanes are still in operation, serving the last trickle of customers who speak in lowered voices in the echoey, emptying store.

Lori trots over to customer service, hurrying both due to the lateness of the hour and in an attempt to warm up her freezing limbs. She sees Cooper standing at the register, apparently talking to himself. As she approaches she overhears the conversation between him and his invisible pal.

"If you die it puts people at risk anyway. You have to learn when to ask for help."

"I'm not dead."

"That doesn't make you right. It just means you got lucky."

Grace pops up from below the counter, hair hanging greasy and disheveled around her grime-streaked face. Her standard blue collared work shirt in favor of a cheap promotional t-shirt featuring a map of Michigan with a star in the upper peninsula and emblazoned with the words "S-Mart 2010 Company Picnic: Raising UP Spirits!"

"Yeah, well , he's still lying facedown in the store closet. You can go kick him in the face a couple times if that'll make you feel better." Grace places her balled up workshirt on the counter, a stained bunch of reds, purples and blues. As she attempts to tug and smooth her hair back into something resembling a ponytail, she catches sight of Lori.

"You know your shift starts at ten, right?"

Lori nods. "I had a transportation issue."

"What kind of issue?"

"I couldn't find any. My…my mom couldn't find her keys…again…and I missed the last bus pickup."

Cooper halts his work and looks at Lori. "You mean you walked here from Overlook Park?"

Lori shrugs and drops her eyes to the floor. "More like sprinted," she mumbles.

Cooper casts a concerned glance at Grace. "That's over two miles."

Grace narrows her eyes at Cooper, then turns back at Lori. "Lori…if you're going to work this shift, your chronic tardiness is not going to fly. Not for a second. People are counting you." Grace lowers her voice. "People's lives might depend on you. So you need to work around whatever issues you're having at home and show up when you're supposed to show up."

Grace sniffs at the air and wrinkles her nose. "Also, there is a zero tolerance policy for being under the influence during your shift. Especially for minors."

Lori's heart jumps. "No! I'm not drunk! I don't drink. I never will, ever. But see there was an accident—"

"I don't really care who gave you the Schlitz bath," Grace interrupts. "You need to make sure that when you walk through those doors you don't reek of booze. That is your responsibility and no one else's. If you can't do that and show up on time, then there will be no place for you here."

Lori's insides freeze, then drop to the floor. She feels the sting of embarrassed tears at the back of her eyes and a huge lump form in her throat. Next to Grace, Cooper looks stunned, but remains silent.

"Now," Grace continues. "I have a job for you to do. Go to the basement and grab a pair of coveralls, an axe, some lye and a hell of a lot of garbage bags, then come back up and address the situation in the storage closet. You can see if Nathan will help you, he should be done stocking shelves...both his and yours."

"Yes, I…right away. I'm sorry, I'll…I'll be more careful next time." Lori stammers as she retreats into the store, hopeful to find the safe and comforting presence of her best friend. She has no idea what situation is waiting her in the supply closet, but it couldn't be any more horrifying that this moment.

As Lori disappears into the aisles, Cooper turns to Grace, his eyes angry and demanding.

"What the hell was that about? There's obviously something wrong here, we need to—"

Grace grabs her soiled shirt and starts walking in the same direction as Lori.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" Cooper yells after her. "I mean of course she has to honor her obligations here but you don't have to be such a…a…"

Grace turns back, eyebrow raised. "Such a what?"

Cooper's mouth gapes, then closes. Grace smiles and nods.

"Good answer."

"I'm just saying, it might be better if you were more supportive. You are her direct supervisor."

Grace nods and sighs. "Cooper, what is today?"

Cooper shakes his head. "Uh, well, Friday, in thirty minutes. Are you even listening...?"

"And the date?"

"Um…the 17th."

Grace smiles. "Exactly."

Cooper furrows his brow, confused. Grace turns away and resumes walking towards the basement.

"Cooper," she calls back, "sometimes you just have to give people the chance to help themselves first. Now finish that register, kick Bonehead in the face if you must, then get downstairs. It's almost time for role call. And you know how much he hates to be kept waiting."


	4. Role Call

The emergency alarm whirs, then cuts out as all the doors and windows are locked and bolted on their automatic switches. It's midnight, and every nook and cranny, every aisle and shelf, every inch of S-Mart is, for the moment, undisturbed by neither sound nor movement.

On the main floor, anyway. Past the storeroom, down the stairs, through the long enclosed hallway, and behind a door made of reinforced steel, this night is just beginning.

The room feels circular and is full of shadows. Around the perimeter are rows of large solid backed steel shelves filled with sundry weapons and cannisters containing acerbic-smelling liquids. These storage/barricade units fan out from a main aisle that leads from the door to the center of the room where there sits a wooden rectangular table. Past the table is another steel door. There are also doors to the left and right. In the back left corner is a makeshift med station with an examining table, monitors and tall lamps with moveable necks.

Yellowed light beats down onto the squat table from the hanging lamps above, illuminating the items strewn about-everything from books to Bowie knives-and casting stark shadows on everything else. Just outside the radius of the light, on the side of the table away from the entrance, paces the tall sturdy figure of a man, straight-backed, proud, even cocky, with his hands clasped behind his back. He walks from one end of the table to the other, dark eyes taking stock of the six men and women on the other side of the table facing him. His lips betray just a hint of a smile. This is his favorite part of the night. The part where he is in charge, where he is the one who undeniably gets to make the rules, where he is totally awesome. The part right before they all remember that he has no idea what he's talking about.

"Drexell?!" Ash barks, assuming the intonation he has heard from every drill sergeant in every army movie he has ever seen.

From end of the lineup, the awkward figure of Nathan Drexell stands up a little straighter.

"Yes, sir, here!"

"Henry?"

"Yeah."

"LaCrue?"

"Here!"

"Masery!"

Lori turns to the gentleman on her right as he responds, "Present." Up until two weeks ago, she had only seen him as the front of store greeter. Now, he is better known to her as Doctor Don, a former VA physician that, a few years ago, had come out of retirement quite suddenly and much to his surprise.

"Mackie!"

Lori leans over to the see past the Doctor to catch a glimpse of the person on the other side. What she sees is a man, very tall and thin with horn-rimmed glasses and wispy blonde hair. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his jeans and his shoulders are humped slightly, as if he is trying to conceal his tall frame, maybe conceal his presence entirely. He jumps at every name called, and his response to his own is a very shaky "H-h-here." Lori racks her brain, but she can't recall ever seeing him before.

"And O'Bannon!?"

"Aye, sir!" Cooper bellows from the other end of the line. Seeing Lori looking in his direction, he gives her a smile and a wink. Lori smiles back. It is a relief to have at least one normal-seeming person in on this…whatever it is.

Ash nods and pauses his pacing in the center of table. His eyes are narrows as he looks up and down the line.

"Good. Everyone's here. Now, you all know who I am. But for the next six hours, I'm not your friend. I'm not even your boss. I am your leader, your commander…your General Manager. And you will address me as such."

Lori looks to Grace, who rolls her eyes and nods. He is, in fact, completely serious about that.

"Now, this might be the first shift for some of you, but you all know why we're here." He leans forward on the table, his face cast in dark relief from the light about. "Those evil shitheads want into this world. And we keep 'em out."

He leans back and returns to pacing.

"This evening's entertainment will be divided into two acts. Drexell, O'Bannon, you're on first patrol. Specs—" he points the nervous man next to the Doctor, who once again jumps at the sound of his moniker "—you're pulling solo survelliance tonight. Doc, Henry and LaCrue are on defense and support. At 300 we'll flip and switch for Act Two. Any questions?"

Lori raises a timid finger.

"Mr. Williams?"

"Any questions? Any at all?"

Lori sighs. "Um…General Manager?"

Ash turns in her direction. "Yes, Ms. LaCrue?"

"Well, um, I was just wondering… what are you gonna be doing?"

Next to her, Grace inhales sharply and clears her throat. Lori feels heat in her cheeks and a sinking feeling that she had stepped out of line.

Ash arches an eyebrow, then cracks a smile. "R and C, honey. That's my one and only task, 24/7/365."

"What is-?"

"If there are no other questions, get your stuff and get moving. We'll see you back here in 3 hours." Ash pounds his iron fist on the table. "Be Smart!"

"WE'RE S-MART!" The senior members of the team respond to Ash's rallying cry. Lori and Nathan exchange a laughing look at each other.

The six members of the night shift turn to take their positions. Doctor Don starts powering up his medical equipment, the nervous man (Specs, apparently), retreats through the door on the left side of the room that contains the blue-grey glow of a bank of security monitors, and Cooper leads Nathan towards the entrance.

Just as Lori is about ask Grace what she should be doing, Ash utters in a low voice, "Henry…a word?"

Grace sighs. "Wait here," she says to Lori. Lori nods, her heart pounding in her ears. The last thing she wants is for Grace to have another reason to hate her. The second to last thing she wants is for Ash to hate her too.

Grace walks to the other side of the table where Ash has taken a seat on a low stool. As she reaches his side, she hears the muffled metallic snap of a bottle cap being peeled off of a glass mouth.

"Something I can do for you, General?" The word "general" is full of vinegar as always.

"Your girl is a nosey Nancy." Ash lifts the bottle to his mouth.

"I told you not to get her involved in this. You're the one who insisted on bringing her into the fold."

"I did?" Ash wrinkles his brow and gives his head a firm shake, trying to loosen the fuzzy memories and bring them into focus. "Uh, well…I didn't say nosey was a bad thing. It means she's…thorough. Suspicious. Sleuthy. Good to have when you're dealing with sneaky little gremlins like we do."

"Yeah, and just wait until her sleuthiness reveals that 'R and C' is code for getting buzzed and reading that book of yours for the eight millionth time. You're gonna be so proud."

A trickle of beer runs down Ash's chin as he yanks the bottle away from his lips. He wipes it away with his sleeve.

"Hey, keep it down will ya? And anyway I don't see you begging to be in the Research and Command position."

"If I wanted to be drunk and bored I would have gone to college. Did you call me up here for a reason?"

"Uh…yes. Your girl—"

"_Your _girl."

"_That_ girl…she is useless."

Grace stares at Ash for what seems like a long time.

"Great. Anything else?"

"Look I know she's smart, I know you're…simpatico, or whatever, but the fact is she's a football out there. Assisting with munitions is fine for now but eventually she's gonna be in a situation where she won't have you, or anyone else to come to her rescue. She's gotta learn how to put 'em down on her own."

Grace drops her eyes to the table. "Ash…she's sixteen."

"General. And sixteen or no, she's one of us now." Ash stands, stumbling a little as he pulls his tall frame up from the short stool. From the chest pocket of his blue work shirt, he pulls out a key ring with just three keys. "Help her decide."

Grace's shoulders raise and drop in a heavy sigh. She opens her hand. Ash smiles, and drops the keys into her palm. Clapping Grace on the shoulder, he turns and walks toward the steel door behind them.

"You just always have to be right don't you?" Grace calls after him.

Ash pauses with his right hand on the door hand and turns back toward Grace. With a shrug of his shoulders and a wry smile, he raises the nearly empty beer in her direction.

"Don't gotta be right, baby doll. Just gotta be the one who signs the checks." With that, Ash sucks down the rest of his beer as he hefts open the door and disappears into the room beyond, the room no one else has ever seen.

"What was that about?" Lori converges on Grace as soon as Ash is out of sight.

"Just getting our assignment from the General." Full of vinegar once again.

Lori wrinkles her nose. "So he's really serious about that whole General Manager thing?"

"Just call him Sir, it makes the whole thing way less ridiculous." Grace heads to the right side of the room, toward the third steel door.

"What are we doing?" Lori asks.

Grace jingles the keys on their ring. "Going on your first visit to The Armory."


End file.
